


Hand Under My Sweatshirt (baby, kiss it better)

by CaseyStar



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Danny gets to drive, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mutual Pining, One Shot, the bad guys are child traffickers, vague mentions of child trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26380615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseyStar/pseuds/CaseyStar
Summary: After a raid leaves Steve injured but refusing medical care, Danny patches him up himself.  When he's finished, habit takes over and he reveals more than he ever intended.
Relationships: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams
Comments: 33
Kudos: 243





	Hand Under My Sweatshirt (baby, kiss it better)

**Author's Note:**

> very early in the fic, a paramedic makes a pun which is explained in the notes at the end if you don't understand why Tani finds it funny. it involves her accent

“Save your breath,” Danny advised the paramedic that was calling after Steve, her erstwhile patient already sliding into the driver’s seat of the Camaro and peeling away from the crime scene.

Seemingly forgetting that Danny wasn’t in the car. Asshole.

“But he was injured! He has a head wound! He requires medical attention!” Her clipped English accent somehow made her pronouncement seem more of an order.

“Yeah, well, he’s an animal that thinks everything is a flesh wound and death is something you just ‘ _walk off’.”_

“Guess that’s what makes him a lieutenant Commander and not a rightenant Commander.”

“Nice!” Tani, finishing up loading the last of the uninjured suspects into a neighbouring squad car, raised her hand for a high-five, the paramedic looking quietly pleased with her pun. 

Danny sighed and the paramedic working on him, because unlike some on the team Danny actually accepted medical help when he was _bleeding,_ paused in his administrations on Danny’s arm, misunderstanding his ire. 

“Sorry, detective, I’m almost done.”

True to his word, Danny was patched up minutes later and he handed back the Koolpak he’d had pressed to his jaw, hopped down from the back of the ambulance and wandered towards a clump of police officers to find a ride back to the Palace. Seeing a familiar face, he homed in on the youngest cop.

“Hey, Pua, gimme your keys.”

The rookie turned to him with a frown before his expression turned more apprehensive, but no less determined. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Detective.”

“Why not?”

Pua swallowed hard but pulled his shoulders back, meeting Danny’s eye for all he looked mildly terrified to do so. “I was the officer to sign out the vehicle and therefore HPD has entrusted it to me and well, Sir, uh,…” Pua looked to his fellow officers for help and found they were all mysteriously distracted by the ground, an interesting looking tree, or their own cuticles.

The Brotherhood in Blue could be damned selective about banding together, and in the face of a potential Jersey hurricane? It was every man for himself.

“’ _Uh’_ , what?” Danny asked, moving to cross his arms over his chest before wincing as the movement pulled on his brand-new stitches. Fucking McGarrett.

“Sir, it’s not that I-”

“Pua! Give me the keys or so help me you’ll regret not giving me the damn keys.”

“Well, Sir, with no disrespect, Five –Oh, well, you, uh-”

“Spit it out, Pua!”

_“Youdonthavethebestreputationwithreturningvehicles.”_

Closing his eyes, Danny took a deep breath, choosing to ignore the not-remotely subtle sniggering of the other HPD officers who were now all watching his response with interest. He waved a hand at Pua.

"Again. Slower. Enunciate. I know you can do it.”

He watched the rookie shift his weight from foot to foot, torn between standing his ground against an angry Jersey cop and his self-preservation instinct to run away far, run away fast.

“You, uh, that is to say Five-Oh, uh, you don’t, ummm-”

“English, Pua. Now.”

“You guys don’t have the best reputation with returning vehicles in one piece.” It came out in a rush but was at least understandable. Third time truly was the charm.

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose, hand at his side clenching into a fist. 

“I will give you that. I will. But that is when Steve ‘ _Maniac’_ McGarrett is driving the car. Or in the car. Or the owner of the car. I, in direct contrast, am a safe driver. A _good_ driver. A driver that respects and _follows_ the rules of the road. All I want is to drive back to the Palace because Commander Forgetful drove off without me.”

“I would be happy to drive you back myself,” Pua offered, either painfully naïve or far, far braver than Danny had previously given the young man credit for.

“You would be happy to drive me…This isn’t Driving Miss Daisy! Give me the keys, Pua. Do it now and I will forget this whole thing ever happened.”

Pua glanced over to Duke who gave him a subtle nod, but Danny chose to believe that the keys landed in his outstretched, still mildly bloody, hand out of Pua’s respect and fear of him, rather than because of Duke.

Self-delusion was a skill and he liked to keep it honed to a lethal point.

He shot the cops a smile that was all teeth and menace.

“Thanks.”

*

As he floored it away from the scene, away from his _failure,_ Steve knew he needed medical attention. He’d known it from the moment he’d seen the flash of steel, felt the icy bite of the blade slitting through his skin from brow to cheek, blood instantly flooding his field of vision, the pain a white hot brand as he fought to disarm his attacker.

 _Danny’s_ attacker.

He knew he’d been foolish. They could have waited, _he should_ have waited for backup. But he’d been haunted the entire case by Danny’s expression every time he looked over the file. Every case was difficult, but cases with children always split his partner’s heart apart. To see a child mistreated, or hurt, or killed struck a nerve with them all, but Danny was a father, a man unable to not see Grace or Charlie’s faces superimposed other every photograph, over ever weeping child, every too-small corpse. 

They’d found too many of those during the course of the case.

Steve wanted this gang for the children that should have been playing freely in their yards but were instead discarded like trash in the back of transit vans. But he also wanted to nail them for Danny. So his partner could go home and sleep the sleep of a man that had made the world just that little bit safer for children everywhere. He didn’t just want them in a cell, he wanted them in the _ground._

He knew better. He knew that anger was not a tactic. Anger was a weakness. Anger got you, and your team, _killed_. 

Yet, in he’d rushed, Five-Oh following after, as ever.

It had been easy at first, deceptively so. The guards were little match for the taskforce. The men were monsters, yes, but nothing in their files suggested them to be skilled fighters. They were armed to the teeth but had little skill, local hires that relied on spray and pray tactics.

Not so their boss. A man who knew not only how to use the weapons he carried, but also his fists. But he had made a mistake; having defeated Danny and kicked his gun away, the man had gotten the blond on the ground, gun to his head. Steve had seen red as the trafficker had cocked his hand back and smashed the butt of his gun into Danny’s cheek, knocking the detective back flat onto the ground, unmoving, unarmed.

Helpless.

Steve had wanted to rip the man’s heart out with his bare hands, small and black as it no doubt was. Out of ammo and options, the rest of the team still engaged in their own combat, he’d thrown himself on top of the man from the catwalk above, knocking his gun into the shadows, throwing him away from Danny’s still form.

The trafficker had pulled a knife from his belt. Steve hated knife fights; the winner was not the one that walked away uninjured, it was the one that could still walk. 

_“So you’re the one after me? I expected taller.”_

_“Sorry to disappoint.”_

_“Pretty though. The money I could have gotten for you twenty-five years ago…”_ The man had licked his lips and whistled, looking Steve up and down slow, lecherous, causing Steve’s skin to crawl.

_“Let’s make you real pretty.”_

Steve was trapped between a stack of crates and a wall, a poor position, lacking retreat or cover. The trafficker had come swinging, a little wild and telegraphed, but a man with a knife was always a danger. Steve ducked, the blade raking against the steel at his back, kicking up sparks as Steve pounded his fists into his opponent’s ribs, followed by a knee to the groin. Steve grabbed the man’s wrist as he curled in on himself, twisting violently, easily divesting him of his knife, the blade clattering to the floor before Steve kicked it away.

Which might have been the end of it. Had the trafficker not retrieved another blade from an ankle scabbard and powered up to his feet. Steve had seen the flash of the blade, but had no time to react, nowhere to go.

The knife had sliced into his face.

The pain had been exquisite. The left side of his vision poured red and it stopped him cold. Taking advantage of his pause, the trafficker had drawn his arm back for a second thrust. One far more deadly.

And then the man had fallen from Steve’s view.

Steve had looked up into the face of a furious Danny, his Heckler &Koch still raised, a wisp of smoke swirling lazily from the barrel. With blood smeared across his cheek and chin, his hair wild and eyes wide, he looked feral, intense.

Victorious _._

Some dark, possessive part of Steve’s soul had cried _‘_ **mine’** _._

 _“I hate the monologuers,”_ the detective had muttered as he hauled himself carefully to his feet using the crates to aid his balance, blood staining the sleeve of one crisp shirt.Across the other side of the warehouse, Tani and Junior were busy hog-tying their own downed combatants, Lou covering them and peppering their suspects with an apparently inexhaustive list of their mistakes, starting with ‘ _starting up this goddamn shit in my backyard, are you outta your damn minds?’_ and progressing to ‘ _and if I hear one more peep outta any of you, I’m gonna have a muscle spasm and squeeze this trigger right here, and I’ll sleep like a baby about it tonight’_.

 _“What the fucking hell is the matter with you?!”_ Danny’s furious gaze had travelled from their dead trafficker to Steve, the detective’s body practically vibrating with anger, all of which was directed at the man in front of him.

Steve had opened his mouth to reply only for it to fill with warm, salty blood. Turning to spit it out, he looked back in time to watch Danny’s back as the detective limped his way out of the building, one hand clamped over the wound high on his deltoid, reaching the door just as SWAT and Duke’s men had poured in.

Following after, Steve had caught sight of Danny, already sat on the tailgate of one of the ambulances that had likely arrived with SWAT. The paramedic was helping him out of his shirt and as Danny had turned, Steve caught sight of the side of his face, at the blackening and swelling around his eye, an injury Steve should have prevented. 

_Could_ have prevented if he’d not once more rushed in where angels feared to tread. Shame had flooded Steve’s gut, a heavy pervasive feeling that had left him nauseated in a way that had nothing to do with the blows to the head he’d received. He hadn’t been able to stay on the scene after that.

*

It was with only a hint of spite that Danny left the cruiser under a tree he knew had an aphid problem. After diverting to the restroom just within the doors lest uninitiated members of the public faint at the sight of a blood covered mad man, and washing his hands several times, Danny dropped the keys at the front desk for Pua to collect. Heading upstairs, he ignored the numerous stares and whispers that followed in his wake, and the occasional whispered ‘ _ten to one Jersey actually kills him this time,’_ which suggested the observers had seen the state Steve had returned in.He was well aware that the most prolific gamblers always carried a badge, especially in a state with no legalised gambling. Five-Oh had made the locker room bookies a hell of a lot of money over the years, betting on anything from ‘ _most bullet wounds sustained on a single case’_ to ‘ _most likely to throw a suspect off a building.’_

To the shock of none, both were Steve, both on the same case. Duke had been suspiciously flush after that case, now Danny came to think about it. No wonder he’d advised Pua to hand over the keys; his anniversary was coming up, and taking Mrs Lukela out for a fancy dinner was likely number one on his priority list.

Headquarters were quiet; Tani and Junior were still at the scene, carrying out all the shit work that rookies were great for, and Lou was no doubt smoothing the many ruffled feathers at SWAT, a group of people that _loathed_ missing out on the action. Which likely meant he was talking off the ledge the current commander, and reminding him that murder was a crime, even when the world, and certainly the buildings of downtown Honolulu, would potentially be better off without one reckless asshole by the name of Steve McGarrett. 

Otherwise known as liaising with their brothers in blue, Five-Oh style.

The aforementioned reckless asshole was already ensconced in his office, tac vest with its new bullet decorations abandoned over the arm of the couch. Sat behind his desk, Steve looked like the nightmare that Danny suspected haunted about half of the inmates of Halawai. Not to mention probably a few other far less welcoming establishments around the globe. Blood had soaked the left side of Steve’s grey tee to black, rivers of it snaked along both arms and at some point he’d fashioned some sort of bandage that was held to his face, his fingers glistening with fresh blood. Danny was half-surprised not to find a blood trail leading from the door to Steve’s office.

It would not have been the first time.

Shaking his head, Danny diverted into his office and pulled out the ridiculously well-stocked first-aid kit that filled the entirety of his bottom drawer. The thing got so much use, he’d started putting in expense reports every time he had to head to the pharmacy to replenish it. He finished cleaning himself up the best he could with a few antiseptic wipes and then prepared for battle.

Pushing the door open with his ass, Danny made his way into Steve’s office.

“Need to borrow my copy of Emily Post?” Steve didn’t look up from his laptop, his usual hunt and peck method of typing even slower with only one hand.

“That’s a funny way of apologising to your beloved partner for abandoning him at a crime scene. I wouldn’t want to rob you of it before you’ve cracked it open, but I guess you’d have to know how to read in order to do that, huh?”

“At least I know how to knock.”

“How to, maybe. Actually do it? Not to my memory.”

Danny ignored both Steve’s spluttered insult about memory being the first victim of age what with Danny’s extra year on Steve, and the lack of apology for the abandonment. Not that Danny had really expected one; they might have caught their man today – for a given definition of ‘ _caught’_ that translated to ‘ _well, Governor, his body is being loaded into Noelani’s van so he isn’t your problem anymore’ –_ but he had only been a middleman that they’d been tracking in hopes of wringing as much information out of as possible. Steve’s true prize was the sick bastard at the top and the previous week had involved less benevolence and more dictatorship from their commander. 

Not that Danny had been much better – he never was when the case involved children, and a ring of men selling children into sex slavery? He wanted them _all._ He just was self-aware enough to realise he needed to be alive to do so. He’d felt a twinge of sympathy at the beginning for Junior and Tani; it was the first child-related case Five-Oh had worked since the two rookies had come on board, and even with the atrocities that Danny had no doubt Junior had seen his time on teams, neither of them had been prepared for the horrors that they’d discovered over the case.

Heading to the couch, he made a show of studying the name patch velcro’ed to the front of Steve's tac vest with overt interest.

'Huh.”

“What?”

“Just…Would you look at that, it says ‘ _McGarrett’_ right there in black and white." 

"It’s _my_ vest." Steve began to sort through a file he pulled in front of him, looking for all the world like a man who actually _did_ his paperwork.

"Thought I'd check. From the behaviour my partner was exhibiting today, I was starting to think I was teamed with Steve Rogers, and no matter what Jerry calls you, you aren't Captain America, babe"

"Would that make you Barnes or Wilson?"

“What have I told you about _not_ being your sidekick?”

“You’re more comic relief anyway.”

“One Ant-Man joke and I’ll be the one to put you in the ground myself.”

Steve held up his right hand in surrender, the left still holding the makeshift bandage firm. His whole arm was covered with blood. Hopefully his own but with Steve it was impossible to tell.

"I got a better idea. How about we lube you up, fit you for a catsuit, you could be the Black Widow."

"I could make that work, and we both know it. Don't be jealous."

"Not with your chest.”

“People love my chest.” Steve raised a brow and didn’t comment, unable to trust that he wouldn’t blurt out just how much _he_ personally did indeed enjoy how the buttons on Danny’s shirts strained to contain the body beneath, the cotton practically moulding to the firm muscles beneath, and especially the way the abundant hair on his chest peeked out from the top button now that Danny had long since ditched the ties.

“You're more of a Doctor Strange anyway."

"What? Damn good at his job?”

"I meant all the hand waving.” Steve demonstrated with his free hand. “Oh, and he has a red cape. Sorta."

"You're hilarious. Anyone tell you how funny you are when bleeding profusely from a head wound?"

“Hey! What are you doing?” Steve asked, yanking his fingers away from his keyboard as Danny closed the laptop shut and shoved it, and the remaining files, aside to dump the first aid kit in the freed space.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Making a mess.”

“More like cleaning up after one. Did you at any point during your grand theft auto, stop and take a look, really take a look at yourself in the mirror? You are leaking all over this expensive furniture, and the colour combo is not what I would call a win.”

“Which is why Blood was always the superior choice for the booths-”

“Really, Steven? Really, you’re going to bring up that again? Like I’d have let you bleed in the vicinity of my restaurant. You might be from a land that thinks eating out the back of any old truck is a great idea, but I prefer to keep a sterile food preparation area.”

Steve’s answering shrug was an inelegant, painful looking thing and Danny rolled his eyes.

Danny opened up the kit, spreading its varied contents across Steve’s enormous desk, uncaring when Steve huffed and sighed as more than one file was buried beneath gauze and tape. It wasn’t like the man was going to read them anyway. 

“I’m fine, you don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up. You’re bleeding all over the paperwork and I’m not redoing it when the Governor rejects it. Now stop being a tough guy and-”

“Alright, alright. Do you ever shut up?”

“When you actually do what I ask the first time I ask. Which you never do, so you never experience it.”

“Here I thought you just liked the sound of your own voice.”

“I have a wonderful voice, and you know it.”

Having laid out his wares, Danny took a proper look at his partner. Steve was holding a sodden cloth to the side of his face that looked suspiciously…yup, a glance at Steve’s right arm confirmed the fabric to be the remains of the right sleeve of his shirt.

At least the idiot had conceded that the wound required some sort of tending. Danny dreaded to think what the inside of his car looked like. He was going to have to take a crowbar to the man’s wallet and get the exsanguinating idiot to pay for the full detailing, inside and out. Maybe also spring for a spa day for Danny to make up for the five years that the day had shaved off his life. He couldn’t handle the McGarrett-related stress the way he could when he was in his 30s.

Age, seemingly, came to everyone. Although perhaps not Steve, if the guy’s death wish got any more rampant.

“How are you feeling? Try honesty, for once.”

“Fine.”

“You’ve been aerated like Steve Monstera and leaking all over the place.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are. I’m fine, Danny,” Steve sighed.

“Fine? You’d say fine even if your arm was hanging off.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“Fucked if I know. Maybe I’m an optimist, believe that if I ask often enough you’ll actually be honest for once.”

Steve’s bark of laughter was immediately followed by a groan of pain as he stretched his cheek, pulling on the wound.

“Karma really is a speedy bitch, huh, babe?” Danny finished ensuring everything was in the order he’d need it, slapping Steve’s questing hand away from more than one sterile item.

“So, lemme guess. You wanted to test a theory that you could repel weaponry with the sheer force of your tiny mind.”

“Danny…” Steve warned.

“No, really. I wanna know. I wanna know why you’re _still_ incapable of waiting for backup and why you think _throwing yourself on top of an armed assailant is a good idea!”_

“You know why.”

“I know why we worked so hard all week. I know I wanted their heads on spikes. But I also know they didn’t have any hostages and that we were outnumbered, and I also know, because I’m a learned man, that Duke had called in the cavalry and that they were less than five minutes away.”

“Last time I checked, we weren’t in the business of waiting to arrest criminals, especially the ones that traffic _children._ ” Steve’s monocular expression turned mulish.

“Don’t do that. Do _not_ do that, Steven. You _know_ I wanted them as much as you, but they weren’t going anywhere, they were armed to the teeth and we were outnumbered.”

Christ, had they been outnumbered. Even with Five-Oh at full strength, they were still only five people against the world. The traffickers, however, were a group at least two dozen strong and hadn’t just been greater in number, but also had had a serious hard-on for hardware that outdid even Steve _Walking Armoury_ McGarrett. 

For roughly the thousandth time since he’d been pressganged into the taskforce, Danny had been staring down the barrel of his own demise when Steve had pulled his latest death-wish stunt. 

“What do you want me to say?” Steve asked, dangerously quiet. “That I’ll sit on the sidelines until you tell me I’m allowed to make a move?” He certainly wasn’t going to admit that it wasn’t entirely his own desire to catch the traffickers that had propelled him into the warehouse despite the dire odds. “I wasn’t going to let them hurt you! He was going to kill you!”

“I thought I made this clear. I am not helpless.” Danny jabbed one finger into the polished top of Steve’s desk. “I may not be able to do the SuperSEAL voodoo that you do, but I have been fighting my own battles since I could walk. I was the shortest of four kids! Fuck, I was the shortest guy on a varsity team. What, over the last eight years, has suggested to you, that I cannot look after myself? Huh? ‘Cos I’m still standing, Steven.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Steve denied hotly. 

“Like hell it wasn’t. I had rounds left, Steve. You didn’t.”

“You were on the ground with a gun in your face, unarmed. What did you expect me to do?”

Danny sighed, anger abating. What Steve said was true; his gun had been knocked from his hands, the lead trafficker had Danny on his back, knee to the chest, gun in his face. But that didn’t mean that he wanted anyone, wanted _Steve,_ to be placed in danger to protect him. 

“You just can’t keep doing this shit, babe. The running off, keeping shit to yourself, thinking you’re life is worth less than the rest of us, that you’re expendable…You gotta know that ain’t true.”

The unspoken ‘ _I don’t want you dying for me,’_ was laid gently, but firmly, at Steve’s feet. 

“I – I’m sorry. But really, I’m okay. We don’t have to do this.”

“Me too. For somehow giving you the indication that this,” Danny gestured between Steve and the first aid kit, “was somehow a discussion.” Danny snapped on a pair of gloves with every sign of relish.

“Right, c’mon tough guy, lemme see.”

“What do you think you’re gonna be doing with those hands?” Steve’s tone was wary and he sat back in his chair, trying to wriggle away from Danny like the six foot toddler that he was.

“Not getting an infection in the cut on your pretty, pretty face.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Steve pouted up at Danny and pursed his lips in a kiss.

“Pretty dumb, yeah.” Danny grasped Steve’s wrist gently and tried to pry it away from his face, only to be resisted. If he were being honest, Steve was a little afraid to remove the bandage; the wound throbbed but he knew it would only be worse once he released the pressure. Worse, he’d discover just how bad the wound was and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

“Steve.” Danny tugged a little harder. “A shirt isn’t sanitary, babe. Especially yours. Lemme see.”

“What do you mean, ‘ _especially mine’?”_

 _“_ You find rolling around under cars and in sewers to be a great day out for all ages. Who knows where that shirt has been.”

“You really robbed the stand-up circuit of a talent, you know that? Whoever told you you’re funny, did the world such a disservice.”

“I’m hilarious. Ask Charlie.”

“He’s six.”

“And an excellent judge of character.”

With a sigh, Steve gave into Danny’s urgings and lowered his hand, eyes screwing up against the bright light and welling pain.

“You drove like this?” Danny wondered how many traffic violations were going to land on his desk; Steve’s eye, miraculously undamaged was stuck closed, his lashes, those ridiculously long lashes, were sticky with blood.

“I’ve done it before.”

“It terrifies me that I believe that. Mow down anybody in my car?”

“A grandma or two, but the dents will buff right out.”

Grabbing the squeeze bottle of purified water and a handful of gauze, Danny pressed against Steve’s forehead until he angled it the way he needed. 

“Close your eyes.”

Steve didn’t.

“Steve, close your eyes.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“You had your chance to have a lovely professional do this. A _cute_ professional, I might add. Ready, willing, _eager_ to treat your wounds. Like an idiot you screeched off in _my_ car and now you’re stuck with me.”

“At least you’re cute.”

“I’m _gorgeous_ , even if you’re personally responsible for the state of my hair.”

“The wrinkles Grace’s fault?”

“ _The wrinkles?”_ Danny reared back with a frown, the lines Steve so adored deepening at the corner of his eyes, his expressive face creasing up. “What wrinkles? What wrinkles, Steven? This complexion has not aged since I turned eighteen. I remain youthful. I am ageless, I am a _classic_. I am-”

“- deluded. You are deluded, my friend.”

“Hmph. At least I know better than to bring a fist to a knife fight.”

“I’m still standing though.” Steve gestured weakly with one hand at his seat. “Sorta.”

“Yeah, because I shot the guy and saved your ass. _Again._ Now, do as you’re told and close your eyes,” Danny repeated, and this time, Steve complied, tilting his head. Holding the gauze to Steve’s throat, ready to catch the water, Danny rinsed the worst of the blood from Steve’s face, the white cotton soaking to red almost immediately.

Steve hissed as the water flushed out the wound, and he tried to pull away, evade the pain but Danny held him firm between his hands. Steve’s hands clenched down on the arms of his chair, the leather squeaking beneath his fingertips as Danny’s grip, firm and sure and strong gently moved his head this way and that as he washed the wound.

“Sorry, sorry.” Danny’s words were little more than a whisper as he sent wave after wave of water over the wound. He tossed the sodden gauze into the trash can, Danny grabbed some fresh squares, wadding them up and pressing them to the cut to stem the fresh blood. With his other hand, he wiped down the side of Steve’s face, getting a clear view of any other damage, getting a better view of the wound.

“Well, your eye is still there.” Danny gentle lifted Steve’s eyelid to reveal the bloodshot hazel eye. The relief in Danny’s tone was matched ten-fold in Steve’s heart. What if he’d been slower? What if the blade hadn’t glanced off his brow? He’d been berating himself since he’d left the scene for not assuming their suspect had a second knife. Eight, hell even _five,_ years ago he’d have never made such a stupid mistake. He’d gotten soft. 

Gotten _old_.

Covering Steve’s right eye with his palm, other hand pressing a gauze pad to the worst of the wound until it stuck fast when he released it, Danny held up two fingers in front of Steve’s face.

“How many?”

Blinking against the blood, Steve squinted.

“Two?” 

“Be grateful it’s not one.”

Danny removed the gauze and Steve grimaced as blood once more flowed freely down his cheek to trace a trail down his neck, before seeping into his shirt. He’d hoped to salvage the garment despite his emergency tailoring but he suspected he’d never hear the end of it if Danny ever saw it again.

“Don’t make that face. You can buy another three pack from Target on the way home.”

“I don’t buy my clothes at Target.”

“Really? Lemme check.” Danny reached for the tag at Steve’s nape, only to have Steve’s intact depth perception demonstrated upon his questing fingers, his hands slapped away with deadly precision.

“I could do this myself.”

“And yet when I arrived, you were sitting here doing work looking like Roden’s _The Bleeder.”_

“Hmmphh.”

“Does Hawaii have a God of luck? Because he must be your best friend. Definitely missed the eye and eyelid, but you’re probably going to scar, especially through the eyebrow, maybe onto the cheek.”

“Charlie will love it.” The little boy, though still obsessed with all things cars and speed – something for which Danny blamed Steve loudly and often – was also going through a pirate phase after Grace had shown him ‘ _Muppets Treasure Island’._ Steve was pretty sure that if he turned up at school all rakish with a brand new scar?

His favourite uncle status would be assured.

“Grace however, will kill you.”

“She would never, she loves me,” Steve denied vehemently.

“She worries about you.”

“And who does she get that from?”

“Neither of us would be working towards an ulcer if you didn’t pull this shit.” Danny waved a reddened anti-septic wipe in Steve’s line of sight before tossing it in the trash. Lifting the gauze from the wound, Danny assessed the damage.

The worst of the wound sliced through Steve’s brow, though Danny couldn’t see bone, for which he was eternally grateful. The cut extended down on Steve’s cheek, shallower, steri-strips likely more than enough to keep it closed. But the damage to the brow…

“This really needs stitches, babe.”

“Strips will do.”

“Steve, this isn’t Afghanistan. You don’t gotta make do.”

“I’m not. It’s not the first time you’ve fixed one of us up.”

“Not on the face.”

“You sayin’ you can’t do it? Even with all this?” Steve jerked his chin in the direction of the first-aid kit that took up half the space of his desk. “I’d be surprised if you couldn’t carry out surgery.”

“Fine. You wanna be the Dread Pirate McGarrett, I can do that for you _._ That is something I can do.Here, hold this.” Danny filled Steve’s hand, still stained with blood, with a Koolpak wrapped in fresh gauze, and guided it to Steve’s brow, hoping that the ice would help lessen the blood flow while he worked on the rest of Steve’s wounds.

“What is it?”

“Ice. For your thick skull. Hold it there.” Opening his mouth to argue, Steve looked up into Danny’s face and wisely thought better of it. Meekly he held the ice pack to his brow.

Laying out everything he’d need to debride and clean the wounds that ran up the length of Steve’s arms Danny dragged one of the heavy visitor chairs around the corner of the desk and got settled in. Reaching for Steve’s left arm, the one with the worst defensive wounds, he rested it across his thighs and set to work.

Danny turned Steve’s arm this way and that, as he used yet more wipes to clear away the dried blood from the skin, revealing the true extent of the damage the trafficker had inflicted. Thankfully, despite the sheer amount of blood staining Steve’s skin, the slashes were not as bad as Danny had feared, and could have been so much worse. Their tac vests protected their abdomens and most of the major organ but their arms and legs were vulnerable, and all it took was one lucky shot, one lucky stab and it would be goodnight Vienna before an ambulance could even be called, let alone arrive.

Danny fell into the care with ease; he had a decade of practice with Grace, but even before that, he’d spent a childhood being the one that Matty and Bridget came to with every scraped knee and busted lip. Stella was either too smart to get in fights, or – more likely because Danny had been on the receiving end of a retaliation or two from her – was too good to get scraped up enough to need help.

*

Danny’s touch was practiced but gentle as he began to painstakingly apply butterfly stitches to the worst of the cuts using tweezers, pinching the four inch wound closed with one hand and applying the steri-strips with the other. Steve’s breath caught at the thought that Danny had become so skilled at tending wounds due to years of following Steve’s lead.

“Don’t go giving yourself unnecessary credit,” Danny grumbled, once more demonstrating his disturbing capacity to read Steve’s mind. “I’m the oldest brother outta four kids. I was a short kid in a New Jersey public high school.” Danny’s head remained bowed as he wrapped a bandage over the finished stitches, more to stop Steve messing with it than because it truly needed it. “I also have two kids, one of whom thinks his Uncle Steve is the greatest thing ever, and tries to emulate him, taking years off my life.”

“Best thing ever, huh?”

“May I remind you that Charlie is six?”

“And a fine judge of character.”

“Right, throw my words back in my face, that is so like you.” Danny’s words had bite but he was smiling as he said it, and as always, Steve was captivated.

Danny’s gorgeous face was temptingly and overwhelming close and Steve allowed himself, while the detective was distracted, the luxury of studying the way his blond lashes fluttered against his cheeks, the smooth slope of his nose, his five o’clock shadow just starting to glint with threads of silver through the stubble, the inviting curve of his mouth.

If his current view had been offered with every medical treatment he’d been subjected to over the years, Steve would have been lining up to get shot at, and regardless of what one Danny Williams might think, he didn’t _actually_ try to get himself hurt. 

The view though…it made the pain worth it.

In the years since Danny had arrived on the islands, the wrinkles around his eyes had deepened and increased in number. Age was a factor, no doubt – neither of them was in their thirties anymore - as was constant squinting against the relentless sunshine, but Steve also liked to believe they were a symbol of Danny’s happiness, of how much he’d laughed and smiled and enjoyed his life, despite a myriad of protests to the contrary, since coming to Hawaii.

Since meeting Steve.

Danny truly was a mess of contradictions; he was possessed of both the angriest personality Steve had ever encountered and the sunniest smile. His temper would flare at the drop of a hat, but he’d forgive just as quickly. He complained, bitterly, about Hawaii at every opportunity, going so far as to fabricate one if necessary, yet fought tooth and nail to remain.

He was straight as an arrow and the love of Steve’s life. 

*

“You think I want to nag you all the time? You think I like nagging you all the time?”

“I do, yes. I _do_ think you enjoy nagging me because you never stop.”

“Because you never stop doing stupid shit.”

“Maybe I just like the dulcet tones of your whining. You ever think about that?”

“You ever think that you’re just a moron?"

“You remember how I’m your boss, right?” Steve hissed as Danny slathered on some antiseptic ointment with a little more force than Steve deemed strictly necessary.

“Name only, babe.” It was the truth; while Steve might, on occasion run the taskforce like his very own SEAL team, he rarely actually pulled rank, and Danny had been more co-command than second in command for years.

“I have power over personnel.”

“Yet the Governor is the only one that’s ever fired anyone and seeing as how I’ve spent most of the last decade turning you into a human being-”

"Instead of what?” Danny’s comments about him being a murder robot in one of their therapy sessions still stung, even years later. Steve knew what he’d been like when he first left the SEALs, knew his mind-set had still been on the Teams and had expected Five-Oh to respond the same way as his men, but he’d eased off pretty fast, even though he still expected excellence from his team. But for Danny to call him a robot after being with each other for years…that had hurt.

“A walking, talking target. I have seen landed fish with a longer life expectancy than you.”

“When was the last time you caught a fish?”

“How quickly they forget. You and Lou might have gone toe to toe with your catch of the day, but we _both_ know those were mere minnows next to my toony-fish. Never did get those photos you took, you bastard.”

‘ _Yeah, for good reason,_ ’ Steve thought. He needed to divert Danny’s attention from the memory, all too aware that once the other man got a hold of something, he was like a dog with a bone, which might make him a very good detective but also made him very difficult to hide things from.

Things like inconvenient, unrequited _feelings._

“We’ll talk when you take down a boar.”

“I don’t want to take down a boar, you ever think about that? What’s a boar ever done to me, huh? Never got me shot at? Never got stabbed in _the face_ and refused professional care.”

“I was _not_ stabbed in the face.”

“Yes, you were. Yes, you _were_. I know this because I am looking at you right now and would you look at that, there’s a freaking hole in your face.”

Soaking a fresh wad of gauze in anti-septic, Danny tugged the Koolpak from Steve’s brow.

“This is going to suck,” he murmured. Even angry at Steve as he was for once more being a self-sacrificing idiot, he regretted causing him more pain. But it was the only way.

Without being asked, Steve closed his eyes, placing his care in Danny’s hands, and the detective’s heart fluttered at the silent trust. Tilting Steve’s head slightly, Danny winced as he watched Steve’s lips curl back from his clenched teeth in pain, even though the SEAL didn’t make a sound as the first wave of antiseptic wash swept over his face. 

*

It _burned._

Behind his lids, Steve’s vision flared bright white, the hot pain building to a near unbearable crescendo as Danny sent another wave of the antiseptic wash over his skin, the cleansing fluid feeling as though it were eating into his flesh, setting his skin aflame.

He couldn’t breathe. To breathe would be to scream and so instead, Steve bit down on his tongue and sent his mind away, to a place without pain, letting his mind drift, floating away on a fantasy of taking Danny to the petroglyphs once more, the day not interrupted by corpses and broken limbs, but rather a day of encouraging Danny to love the islands as much as Steve did.

Vaguely, as he let himself sink into the fantasy, he felt the other man’s hands on him as he worked, the comforting cadence of his voice until finally, Danny’s ministrations ceased and he stepped away. Slowly and with reluctance, he lifted himself out of a life he could never have, one where Danny’s hand was warm in his, the other man’s smile wide and bright as he pushed Steve into the rock-face and kissed away his detailed explanations as to what the artwork represented.

Shaking himself clear of the dream, Steve let reality seep back in until he could feel the throb and pulse of the left side of his face, automatically reaching up to investigate the work he’d missed only for Danny to slap his hand away without looking away from where he was rummaging on the desk.

Over the years, Steve had had cause more than once to believe that, despite Danny’s varied and loud denials, the other man would have flourished in the military. The Navy would have certainly benefited from a corpsman as calm and ready to improvise as Danny.

Case in point, Steve watched as, not having the right item, Danny swiftly sandwiched a sheet of cotton wool between two pieces of gauze before cutting out an oval shape roughly 3 inches long and 2 wide.

Rummaging around in the kit, the detective retrieved a roll of microporous tape, and ripped off a strip, fixing it to the makeshift eye pad.

“This will have to do. Wanna keep you from touching it.”

“You gonna mummify me, too?” Steve asked tapping a finger against a roll of gauze.

“I was thinking Eddie’s cone of shame. Close your eyes.”

This time, Steve didn’t hesitate, holding still as Danny positioned the pad over his eye and pressed the tape gently, but firmly against his skin. Once he was content with the placement, Steve heard him rip another couple lengths of tape off the roll, securing the pad firmly. 

When the work was complete, Danny brushed a hand through Steve’s hair and pressed a gentle kiss over the gauze. “There, all better.” he mumbled, before dropping another kiss to the bottom edge of the bandage. “Love you. Gotta stop doin’ this to me, babe. I can’t lose another partner I’m in love with.”

Straightening up, Danny stripped the gloves off and wandered over to Steve’s trash can, dropping them in before nudging it with his feet over to the desk. Using the blade of his hand, Danny swept the detritus of his ministrations into the trash, gathered up his kit, and swiftly pocketed the car keys that he found by the blotter. No way he wanted to think about Steve driving with a head wound, Honolulu had suffered enough. When no squawk of protest sounded from the peanut gallery, he looked up.

Steve hadn’t moved an inch and while Danny watched, the man didn’t even blink. Instead he stared straight ahead, his gaze so intense that Danny was surprised not to find a smoking hole in the opposite wall.

“Thank you, Danny. I’m grateful for you taking the time to ensure my blood remains on the inside where it belongs, Danny. You’re a good friend, Danny, despite the fact that I left you at a freaking crime scene _after you got stabbed_. Again.”

The detective finished zipping up the first-aid kid, the sides bulging a little less which he idly noted would make it easier to shove back in its drawer and looked up at Steve, but the other man still hadn’t moved in his seat, and didn’t seem to notice he’d been patched up, let alone that Danny was leaving.

“Yeah, you _definitely_ need that etiquette guide more than I do, buddy. Traditionally, when someone is leaving you say ‘ _goodbye’.”_ Still Steve didn’t look at him. 

“I will even accept an aloha, just this once.”

“Aloha?” Steve echoed

“Yeah, merry freaking aloha to you, too.”

It wasn’t until he’d returned the kit to his office, gathered up his things and was angrily adjusting the seat and the mirrors, returning the Camaro to driveable by people with normal length legs, that the portion of his brain which had been ringing a bell for the previous five minutes, the portion of his brain he thought of as his self-preservation instinct and that he’d spent the better part of his career learning to ignore, finally broke through with an action replay of what had transpired in Steve’s office.

Under other circumstances, the noise his head made when it impacted the steering wheel would have concerned Danny. As it was, he fervently wished for brain damage upon which he could blame the fact he had _kissed his boss_ _and told him he was in love with him._

“ ** _Shit!”_**

*

The sounds of Danny leaving barely permeated Steve’s consciousness as his mind played Danny’s words over and over, his skin still alight with Danny’s kiss, the softness of his lips and the rasp of his stubble.

Danny was in love with him?

Danny had, after Cath had left him behind that final time with what transpired to be yet _another_ lie, spent a few months trying to set Steve up with any and every attractive woman that crossed their path, from the sarcastic and athletic woman that ran the dry cleaners and loved extreme sports, to the sweet, and indecently young, new teaching assistant at Charlie’s school.

None of them had been Steve’s type, though he’d taken pains to turn down each proffered date like a gentleman. Doris might not have been much of a mother in the end, but she had instilled that much in him.

None of them were his type. It wasn’t a physical thing; rather, Steve always found himself attracted to people that…that _needed_ him. Maybe they needed him for a night of fun after a shitty breakup, or a weekend of excitement after years of doing the right thing, the _safe_ thing. Or liked that they would never be more than a few days of no-strings-attached a couple times a year.

‘ _Broken toys’,_ was how Danny had described their merry ‘ohana of misfits, and he’d been right on the money. Steve had always surrounded himself with people he wanted to help, wanted to _fix._

And that had been enough. For nearly twenty years of dating that had been enough. He’d never let himself go after someone that he needed. Everyone he’d ever let himself need always left him. It was a blend of what he now recognised as a serious case of abandonment issues, for all Doris had laughed in his face at the idea, and concern about hurting someone at a time when, due to his job, he had the life expectancy of milk left on the beach on a hot day.

Then he’d returned to the islands. Less than twenty-four later he’d met Danny and he let himself want _._

Let himself _need_.

Now, after more than eight years unsure if he could ever be wanted in return, he was going to let himself _pursue_.

*

Paper bag from Lucky Seven in the footwell, Danny turned towards home. There wasn’t any point running and hiding, Steve would only find him and the detective would prefer to have what would no doubt be the most ass-clenchingly mortifying conversation of his life on his home turf.

It wasn't as if he wasn't aware of his attraction to Steve. Had been since the raging moron had turned up on his doorstep in the rain and press-ganged him into Five-Oh.

But it had been something else about Hawaii he ignored, like the humidity and shitty traffic. It was just another thing he had no control over. Maybe he'd spent a few years telling himself it was just a crush, an idle "if _we got drunk and he made a move I totally would_ " deal but he was always aware of it, even when they were both dating other people.

Which probably should have clued him in that it was more than a crush. 

But then he'd handed over half a vital organ without hesitation. For his part, Steve had on more than on occasion, wanted his last words to be him telling Danny he loved him, the most recent time only months prior.

And what had Danny done? Been unable, for perhaps the first time in his life, to find any words.

His apology in the truck hadn't been about not telling Steve about his retirement plans, it had been about not telling him how much he loved him. For the first time in his life, words had failed him, at the worst possible moment. 

Clearly his body, having decided his brain was an idiot and not fit for the job, had taken over his lips and _attached them to his best friend's forehead._ Not to mention the whole declaration of love nonsense.

It had only been a couple months but Danny suddenly missed Chin and his quiet reassurance so much his chest ached with it. Many times over the years, Chin had tracked him down to some dive or other, and shared a beer, or a dozen, with him. Chin had aided in righting the good ship Williams on more than occasion when he’d felt he couldn’t handle another day of sun-drenched beaches or Rachel’s lawyer, or Steve’s spirited attempts to get himself and half of Oahu killed.

But Chin was gone now, building a new life with a new love and if anyone deserved that happiness to remain unsullied, it was Chin Ho Kelly. So Danny didn’t reach for the phone in his pocket, and didn’t press speed-dial #4. Instead, he stomped on the accelerator and turned up the radio.

*

Danny had changed into sweats and just settled in with a beer in one hand, the other eleven chilling in the fridge, the bottle of scotch on the table in front of him between his socked feet, and was entertaining thoughts of what takeout to wash it _all_ down with when he heard the roar of Steve’s ridiculous truck pulling into his lot. For a man trained in stealth, he truly was as subtle as a bomb, announcing his presence to a ten-block radius. He counted the seconds between the slam of a door and the knock that resounded, insistent and demanding.

He resisted the urge to flatten himself to the floor and pretend he wasn’t home. It wouldn’t do any good; his car was out front, the lights were on and the blinds were open. It would only be embarrassing to have to pick himself up off the carpet when Steve let himself in and had to step over him.

That didn’t mean he was about to sacrifice his comfortable wallowing spot to open the door. Steve would, as was his want, find a way in regardless. 

A rattle and a click later, and the front door swung inwards, Steve’s footfalls deceptively soft given the boots he almost always wore. The SEAL slipped behind the couch, liberated a Longboard from the fridge and dropped to sit so close to Danny he was practically in his lap.

Danny would have remarked on being surprised that Steve, currently deprived of a convenient little trick known as depth-perception, had driven his land-yacht across Honolulu but they both knew that would be a lie. Instead, he gulped several mouthfuls of beer, relaxing into the heavy warmth he felt fill his veins as the alcohol entered his system. 

Over the years, Danny had been a part of countless excruciating moments: the time his father had caught him in bed with Betty from next door having lost his virginity seventeen blissful seconds earlier; when nineteen year-old Stella had told their parents over Christmas dinner that she was pregnant and dropping out of college; when Stella had caught him in bed with Matt’s friend Jimmy and promptly had her water break all over his bedroom floor; Charlie’s first Christmas in Jersey when Rachel had insisted on attending and Clara had spent a calm, but ruthless, twenty-five minutes ripping her former daughter-in-law a new one for how she had treated Danny, Charlie, Grace _and_ Stan, a man she at least respected for how he cared for her grandchildren.

Somehow, sitting on the couch with his best friend, a man with whom he’d never shared so much as an awkward moment in over eight years, was worse than them all.

Combined.

Five minutes and several desperate gulps of beer later, Danny had dropped his feet to the floor, ready to fetch another bottle from the fridge because sobriety was for the birds, when Steve finally spoke

“You never did figure it out, y’know.”

“Huh?” Danny dropped back onto the couch and glanced over at Steve but the man was staring down at his untouched beer bottle like it held the mysteries of life.

“My type. When you were trying to set me up. You never got it right.”

Danny’s heart sank. “If this is your way of saying ‘ _I’m flattered but not gay_ ’, save it. I already know.”

Steve began to worry at the bottle’s label, one blunt nail stripping flakes of paper away from the glass to flutter into his lap. “You never guessed my type because it’s…uh…it’s _you._ Has been since, uh, since we met.”

Danny’s own bottle hit the floor with a thunk, rolling across the floor and under the coffee table but he didn’t notice. He studied Steve’s face, but the man resolutely refused to look at him. Considering himself an expert in McGarrett-ese, Danny could ordinarily read Steve like a book written in gigantic font, his every thought and mood writ large across his ridiculously expressive face, his body telegraphing his feelings to all and sundry. But not now. Now, Steve was closed off, almost as though he’d collapsed in on himself, his only sign of discomfort the ‘ _pick, pick, pick,’_ of his nail.

“It’s why I couldn’t send the photos.”

“Huh?” As follow-ups to a declaration, it wasn’t the norm as far as Danny was concerned, but then normal had gone out the window the moment his plane had landed in Oahu nearly nine years ago.

“The ahi you caught,” Steve explained as though it should be obvious. “I couldn’t send the photos.”

“I’m sure Kono could have shown you how.”

Steve snorted, an inelegant sound. “Every photo was of you, close-ups of your face. Not one photo showed the fish. Anybody saw those photos, they’d know.”

“That fish was huge and you didn’t take a sing-” What Steve had revealed sank in.

“But, uh, but that was _years_ ago! You were with Cath!” It came out like an accusation as Danny struggled to comprehend what he’d been told.

“I _told_ you that Cath _wasn’t_ my girlfriend.” Beneath the bandages and bruises, Steve’s face was pale, his expression giving away nothing.

“Because of -” Danny weakly gestured between the two of them.

“Because of you, how I feel about you, yeah.”

_‘Pick, pick, pick.’_

“You were sleeping together.”

“I wasn’t a monk, Danny. I knew what I wanted was impossible, so…” He shrugged one shoulder. “But I also never let her think it was any more than it was – two friends, having sex.”

“But you guys _dated-”_

 _“_ We never should have,” Steve refuted. “Proximity and convenience were not a great basis for a long-term relationship.” That he’d never taken her out for a real date, never had it even occur to him to do so, should have been a red-flag, to them both, as should the fact that sex and the Navy were really all they had in common, but they’d spent so long warming each other’s beds when in the same port, it was simply easier to keep turning to each other.

“But – but you were going to propose!” Danny had been pretty sure he deserved an Oscar for how he’d behaved during that stage of Steve’s life, trying to encourage his friend to take such a leap, to be happy and settled. It had hurt, _God_ had it hurt, but hadn’t Steve deserved some happiness after everything he’d endured? Sure, normally Danny was the first to shit all over the concept of marriage, but if it had been truly what Steve wanted? Well, there was a reason he’d asked Cath to see him, and a reason he’d been pissed for months after she lied to him.

Steve heaved a sigh at being reminded of one of his most foolish, and expensive, bad decisions. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he ever _had_ been going to ask. It had been a knee-jerk decision, a rushed reaction to seeing Kono and Adam so happy at their wedding and wanting to feel even a fraction of that for himself. He couldn’t have the one he wanted, so he’d figured why not a friend? He’d never been in love with Cath, not the way a marriage perhaps needed, and certainly couldn’t trust her with his heart even if he hadn’t been in love with Danny, not after all the shit she’d pulled but his memories of the friend she’d once been to him, the link she provided to a life he no longer led…they’d been friends who cared for each other the best they could and he thought maybe they could make it work, have had a decent life.

“You were moving on, Melissa was nice…I didn’t want…” _‘To be left behind.’_

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” If Steve was being honest, if he’d fallen for Danny so very long ago, and there’d been so many times they had both been single, why not make a move?

“You’re my best friend and you can never understand how much I needed that when I got here. Needed _you._ Freddie, dad, Doris coming back, Wo Fat…How could I risk losing the _one_ person that has never left me, never betrayed me? Who would I be then?”

“You were _scared?_ You? The man who jumps out of perfectly good airplanes and disables nuclear bombs with his bare hands?”

Another shrug. Another sliver of label fluttering to Danny’s recently vacuumed floor.

“I’ve gone after people I wanted before. That was easy.” 

Danny’s blood ran cold at Steve’s words, his stomach twisting itself into a knot so tight he feared the beer was about to make a reappearance. Resting his elbows on his knees, he let his head hang forward, staring near sightless at the bottle under the table, those words echoing in his head. What the fuck did Steve mean? That he didn’t want Danny? But before he could ask, Steve continued.

“But pursue someone I needed? Needed like I need _you?_ Never. I had nothing to offer: until I came home, _accepted_ that I was staying home, I was barely out of warzone for more than a few weeks at a time. So I never let myself try.”

“And, uh-” It was little more than a croak, Danny’s mouth bone dry, his heart racing. He swallowed painfully, and tried again. “And now? Are you going to let yourself try now?” 

“I have to. It wore off.”

That got Danny’s attention and he made the mistake of looking up from studying the weave of the rug. Steve was so close that their heads almost cracked together, but that wasn’t what caught Danny’s attention. Steve was staring at Danny, at Danny’s _lips_ and the detective couldn’t help himself, his tongue slicked across his lips, Steve so close he swore he got a tease of his taste, and watched, wide-eyed as Steve’s lips parted in response.

“Wha-wh-what wore off?”

“Your kiss.” Steve gestured at the bandage over his eye and then, after a moment’s hesitation, his lips. His gaze never left Danny’s, expression vulnerable but so very hopeful. “The pain came back. I need you to make it better, again.”

“Yeah?” 

Laughter strangled in Danny’s throat, high-pitched and breathy, and his cheeks pinked, but he was smiling, so wide and so achingly beautiful that Steve desperately needed to kiss him, to lavish love and attention to the black and purple bruises that had bloomed dark across the tan skin of his temple and jaw, the imprint of the trafficker's gun butt emblazoned across the side of his face. Steve was powerless to stop himself reaching out, gently trailing his fingertips along the edges of the bruise and down, hesitating for only a moment before tracing the curve of Danny’s lower lip.

“Definitely.”

Hitching his leg onto the couch, Danny shifted to face Steve, who blindly placed his beer on the floor. As Danny took his hands, Steve’s eyes fluttered shut in anticipation, only to fly open again seconds later when soft lips brushed across his scraped knuckles. Trust Danny to subvert his expectations. 

Danny’s head was bowed, lashes a dark smudge across his cheeks as he gently kissed each abrasion. His hair, usually so ordered and tamed, was beginning to win the battle against the gel and was fluffing up behind Danny’s ears and at the nape of his neck. Steve’s fingers flexed against Danny’s with the desire to run through the strands to learn if it was as soft as it appeared, to leave his partner looking as disordered a mess as he felt. If he was lucky, he’d get the chance soon enough. 

The long scratch that marred his wrist was next, and Steve wondered if Danny could feel the thundering of his pulse through the thin skin. A trio of kisses were dropped in quick succession along the stark white bandage that encircled his forearm. The breath whooshed out of him on a moan when Danny’s tongue slicked, feather light, along the crease of his elbow, tasting the bruise that was blooming there. The detective glanced up at the sound, gaze heavy and hungry as he winked up at Steve.

Emboldened by the display, Steve clutched the sleeves of Danny’s sweater, dragging him across the small space between them to sprawl half atop him. The move tugged at Danny’s stitches, and he hissed at the sudden reminder of his injury but when Steve tried to withdraw, when one large hand came to rest gently where the bandage was wrapped around his arm, Danny pressed only closer. Turning further into the other man, Danny threw one leg over Steve’s thighs to land heavily in his lap.

Then Danny’s hands, those large capable hands that had starred in more than a few of Steve’s filthiest fantasies, were cradling his face, holding him so gently, as though he was something special. 

Something _precious_.

The intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability in Steve’s eyes as he gazed up at Danny, the tight clutch of his hands in Danny’s shirt, as though he was terrified that if he let go or looked away, Danny would disappear had the breath catching in Danny’s chest. He shuffled closer and nosed against Steve’s temple. Steve smelled of sea salt and gunpowder, and when had Danny started to find that sexier than any perfume?

The kiss to the bandage was so light, so careful Steve barely felt it. A flutter of lips against his cheek came next, just below where the bandage ended. A promising series of suckling nips along his jaw left a searing tingle in their wake as Danny nosed beneath Steve’s ear. He let his tongue snake out to taste the soft skin, a swirl of nonsense patterns and fluttered kisses.

“Better?” Danny’s voice was deep, raspy in a way Steve knew he’d never tire of as he rested their foreheads together. The SEAL’s eyes slid shut, and shivered at the gentle drag of Danny’s scruff against his skin.

He’d never wanted to kiss someone so much in his life.

“Hmmm, keep going, I’ll let you know.” Steve’s unsure tone was pitifully unconvincing, especially when his breath hitched at the feel of Danny’s breath washing over his lips. Steve licked his lips in anticipation of Danny’s kiss, their mouths so close his tongue lapped at Danny’s lip, a tease of heat that tugged at his gut.

Steve’s hands were achingly gentle on him as they kissed, one large palm curving around his neck, the other flexing against his side to the rhythm of their lips moving against each other. Danny wanted to sink into the heat of Steve’s mouth, into the warmth of his strong body, into the hold the other man had on him, as though he was terrified of him being wrenched away, of another person he loved leaving him.

For all their lives were so hectic and loud, it felt like a dream, quiet and peaceful. That moment when their lips met felt inevitable, that every trial had led them there, wrapped up together on Danny’s couch. 

When he’d let himself think about it, Danny had always assumed that, due to the time the man spent in the ocean and licking his lips, that Steve’s lips would be chapped. Instead, when their lips met, they were soft as they parted against his own. Welcoming.

He deepened the kiss, forcing Steve’s head back into the cushions of the couch. Danny’s hands were everywhere, his touch wild and starved as he tried to get closer to Steve, his knees sliding on the slick cushions as he shifted to press their chests together.

Heart pounding in his ears, Danny gentled the kiss, stroking down the side of Steve’s face as he drew back. He hadn’t meant for more than that simple press of lips, but when Steve opened his eyes to look at him with such naked longing, such utter unabashed hope, he couldn’t help himself. His hands flowed up into Steve’s hair, drawing him close again. Their lips came together again, the kiss deeper this time. Steve’s tongue shyly, _shyly,_ flicked over Danny’s lips as he begged entrance, and for once, Danny was eager to oblige him. 

Seated on his lap, of a height with Steve for once, it was so easy for Danny to sink into Steve, into his taste, the beat of his heart against his chest, the warmth of his body. Unable to help himself, Danny ground down into Steve, teasing the hardness he found that answered his own, heat growing between them.

The rasp of Steve’s stubble left Danny’s lips tingling and he couldn’t help but lick them as he broke the kiss, the flesh warm and swollen against his tongue. Used.

“And now?”

“Getting there, but I could relapse at any moment.” The vulnerable quaver to Steve’s voice had Danny frowning and he resisted Steve’s attempt to tug him back down. Instead, he studied the man’s face, resolutely ignoring the reddened lips and flash of tongue as Steve licked over them.

“Steve,” he said quietly, hands buried in the thick dark hair, fingers scratching over Steve’s scalp just to watch him shiver. “You don’t…you don’t still believe you’ve got nothing to offer? Right? You know better?”

“Hmmm?” Steve asked, staring up at Danny as though he were drunk, Danny unsure if he were even really paying attention. Carefully, Danny shook Steve’s head. “Tell me you know better.”

Steve’s gaze slid away and down and one shoulder hitched up, but he didn’t let go of where he clutched Danny’s shirt. “I got a home, and I lead Five-Oh.”

“You think that’s it? That’s all you got to give someone? Give _me?_ Beachfront property and a fancy title?”

Steve’s gaze remained averted and he didn’t respond, but Danny heard his answer loud and clear.

“You’re a putz, y’know? I’m in love with a complete putz.” Danny sighed, forcing down the desire to track down Doris and put a round through her head himself for the hell she’d driven her own son into at the age of 15. Her lies had destroyed the lives of so many and never had she so much as appeared to give a singular shit about it.

But that would only hurt Steve. Nobody would, if Danny had his way, hurt Steve again.

“Listen up, kale for brains, you’re a catch.” That caught Steve’s attention, the man’s hazel eyes lifting to Danny’s. “Everyone in the Williams’ household thinks so.”

“Yeah?” 

“Ma wants you to come to Jersey so she can show you off around town, despite the fact that you drag me, her precious boy, into danger on the weekly.” He said it with a smile, removing the sting from his words.

“Your mother loves everyone,” Steve demurred.

“Shows what you know. That woman can be savage _._ Remind me to tell you about Easter ’92. There’s a good number of people in Trenton that shake and cry at the sight of a painted egg.” 

“Eggs?”

“ _Savage._ ”

“She who you got it from, huh?”

Showing great moral fibre by deciding to ignore that little remark, Danny continued.

“You think Bridget makes her double fudge-triple choc peanut butter heart attack cookies for just anyone?”

“She made those for you.”

“Don’t you believe it.” Danny had expected Steve to turn down the box of cookies that bore his name, citing health grounds what with a single cookie providing about three days’ worth of calories and fat, but the man had dived in with every sign of enjoyment, only coming up for air when Kono had moved the box out of his reach. Lou had, while Steve had been unable to prevent it, stolen a couple and Danny knew Renee had been working hard to reverse-engineer the goodies, Lou unable to winkle the recipe out of the Williams clan despite his best efforts.

“You love my kids so fiercely people have mistaken you for their father. I never have to worry about their safety, because they have their own elite bodyguard.”

“You’ll always worry about them.”

“Yeah, okay,” Danny agreed easily. “But I’ll have you to help me bury the bodies of anyone that looks at ‘em funny.”

“There’s more efficient methods of body disposal-”

“See, that’s why I love you, babe.” Danny ducked and pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead. With Grace applying for colleges, Danny had every belief he was going to be introducing Steve to a few key people on each campus as ‘ _my partner, the trained killer,’_ and then just let word spread.

“What I’m getting at is, look at our ohana; you gave us _all_ a home. You see someone suffering and you do everything in your power to help, to make it better. That’s what you have to offer, your marshmallow heart. Okay?”

Steve’s eyes shimmered in the dim lamplight, but the small smile that teased at the edges of his lips was genuine. Hopeful.

“This is just…I never pictured myself like this.” Steve released his death grip on Danny to gesture between them.

Danny frowned. “What? With a man?”

“Happy,” Steve admitted quietly, whispering it into the space between them as though if the world were to hear it, it would all be snatched away.

Danny frowned. “Babe…I know I’m hard on you, but you deserve to be happy.” He stroked a hand down Steve’s cheek until he could slide his fingers beneath Steve’s chin so he could tip the other man’s head back, forcing him to look up and meet his gaze. “Anyone says different, they can fuck themselves,” Danny opined with vehemence. “They got a problem, they can deal with me.” 

The detective bitterly wished that the shock that flashed across Steve’s eyes at the thought of someone going to battle for him , defending him didn’t speak of years, _decades,_ since the last time someone had vowed to protect Steve. Not his body, like his teammates or the Navy, the man treated as a walking weapon, but his heart. His too-big, too-soft, too-battered heart, so oft left bleeding and broken by those that should have held it most dear.

He stroked a hand through Steve’s hair and smiled as the big-bad SEAL butted his head into the touch. He rewarded the man by tugging on his hair a little, delighted by the shudder that travelled through the large body, the reaction having _real_ possibilities down the line.

“Gonna get all Jesery on them?”

“Absolutely. Absolutely I am. Teach them a few things.”

“Maybe just sit on ‘em, that’d do it.”

Danny cocked a brow, leaning back on Steve’s lap, deliberately sitting dropping more of his weight onto the SEAL’s lap, despite the ache it set off in his knee. He was happy to play along, aware that there was only so much Steve could handle feeling so emotionally raw and exposed at any one time. They had, if Danny got his way, the rest of their lives together to coax some self-worth into the lug. If there was any time left over, they could work on beating some self-preservation into Steve.

“You calling me fat?”

“I’m saying you’re not exactly feathers.”

“Fat. I tell him I love him and he calls me fat. I tell him how great he is, and he calls me fat. The honeymoon period is over.”

“Shut up, Danny.”

“If I’m too heavy for such a delicate flower, I can just get up.” Danny shuffled on his knees as it to do just that, only for Steve to wrap his arms around Danny’s middle and tug him back down, plastering them chest to chest. Pulling back to gaze down at Steve, Danny’s heart clenched; smiling, with eyes alight with happiness, Steve was so painfully beautiful. Gone was the haunted, hungry look of the man he’d met so many years ago in a shadowy garage, guns drawn and tempers frayed. In his place was a man with roots, with a family, a man with happiness and joy in his life. A man that _had_ a life, not just a mission. Danny filled his palms with Steve’s cheeks just to feel the way his smile creased his skin, and then gently shook the man’s head from side to side.

“ _Next_ time, because there _will_ be a next time because you’re _you_ , you’re going to wait for SWAT and allow them the goddamn courtesy of getting to do their job. Which they have not gotten to do since you returned to the islands like the moronic bullet magnet you are.”

“I am not a bullet magnet.” Steve tried to scowl but his smile never faltered.

“Moron you’re okay with though?” Danny let his head fall back and cried out to the ceiling, “Finally, he agrees with me.” 

“Idiot.” Steve’s laughter was a breathy, snorting thing that should have been deeply unattractive and yet Danny’s heart fluttered to hear it and he was unable to stop himself kissing Steve.

“But let’s get one thing straight, G.I Jerk,” Danny said forcefully, lips millimetres from Steve’s own, a tease of warm breath brushing against Steve’s mouth. “This whole thing, you and me, me kissing this better, it’s not an excuse to do dumb shit. In future, you will be sleeping in the yard, you pull a stunt like that again, not getting-”

“A reward?” Steve asked, rolling his hips up into Danny’s, blood singing at the answering hardness rubbing against his cock.

“Exactly.”

“I don’t believe you,” Steve challenged with a smile, thrusting up more forcefully. Steve laughed and leaned close to kiss the scowl off Danny’s lips. He nipped at Danny’s lower lip, tugging it between his own before letting go to dive in to explore every millimetre of Danny’s mouth with his tongue, hands encouraging Danny to rock his hips into him. One of Steve’s hands slid from its hold on Danny’s side to grasp at his thigh, before sliding up to push beneath the soft fabric of Danny’s shirt to the warm skin beneath, glutting himself on the feel as he ran his hand up the channel of Danny’s spine, using his hold to push them closer together.

Danny broke away with a gasp, breathing hard. Beneath him, Steve was flushed but smug, his ridiculous lung capacity causing Danny’s oxygen-deprived mind to spiral away to ever-increasingly lewd places. From the way that Steve cocked a brow, the other man knew _just_ what he was thinking.

“You’ll always kiss me better, and you know it.”

“Oh yeah?” Danny leaned back, and though he didn’t drop his hold on Steve’s face, he lifted himself up high onto his knees, out of range of Steve. The bulge pressing against the front of his soft sweats had Steve’s mouth-watering, and his fingers flexed on Danny’s hips, trying to tug his love back down, or better yet, tug the sweats down.

“I’d rather you didn’t need me to.” Danny didn’t deny the truth of Steve’s words. There was no point; nothing, short of death, would keep him from doing everything in his power to protect Steve from the slings and arrows the world so loved to shower upon him.

“But you’ll do it. You _love_ me.” Steve’s smile was equal parts smug and fond, his tone awed but this time unquestioning. 

“Yeah,” Danny sighed. “Yeah, I do.” In response Steve arched up and, unable to reach his lips, suckled a kiss against Danny’s neck, hot and wet and perfect. Danny pulled Steve’s head close, encouraging him to nose along his collarbone as he arched his back to press closer. Happy to oblige, Steve latched onto the junction between neck and shoulder, filling his mouth with the solid muscle as he sucked a bruise to the surface.

Heat flooded Danny’s gut at the rumble of satisfaction that Steve gave when he saw the slight mark he’d left, his lips firm against the gentle bruise before the other man sat back and grinned up at Danny.

That stupid smile was causing his heart to pound and his hands to tremble. He’d only had the one beer, fast as it was, not nearly enough to be tipsy even on an empty stomach, but Danny felt drunk regardless. Giddy, even, in a way that he couldn’t remember feeling since Grace’s birth.

Happy. He was _happy._

He let Steve tug him back down to rest heavy across his lap, a ridiculous smile on his face. Danny couldn’t help himself, diving in for another kiss, tipping Steve’s head back as Danny explored every inch of his mouth. The kiss was only broken by the loud grumble of Danny’s stomach.

“What?!” Danny defended as Steve scoffed at his mortal needs for nutrition, preferring instead to try and keep him alive on kisses alone. An experiment that Danny was _more_ than willing to conduct another day. “We worked through lunch.” As well as breakfast, dinner the night before and at least half a dozen other meals during the week. 

“Hmmm.” Steve’s reply was all rumble where he was kissing behind Danny’s ear, all warm breath and velvet lips. “Gonna need to feed you, keep your strength up.” Bending his wrist awkwardly, Steve burrowed into the pocket of Danny’s sweats, shamelessly groping his crotch as he did so, to help himself to Danny’s phone.

“What you wanna eat?” He asked, unlocking the device without having to ask for the code, because of course the asshole knew what it was. 

“How about Thai?” Danny had been craving tom kha gai ever since their case had taken them through the kitchen of a Thai restaurant downtown. The soup was honestly the only justification for the existence of coconuts, in his opinion.

“Had Thai last week. What about Mexican?” Steve was already dialling, sure he was going to get his way regardless. Which of course he was. It wasn’t as if it was Danny’s home, or Danny’s phone, or Danny’s damn wallet that would be cracked open to pay the delivery guy.

“Why do you even ask?” Danny muttered, not really caring as Steve nuzzled into his neck as he waited for his chosen restaurant to answer. Danny tipped his head back and gave his lover all the room he wanted to kiss and lick at his skin. He’d find out what he was eating when it arrived. 

And definitely find out who won the ‘ _when are they gonna get their act together?’_ pool. 

His money was on Tani. 

**Author's Note:**

> The pun the paramedic makes is that she’s English and we pronounce it Left-tenant while americans say Loo-tenant.


End file.
